


walk me home in the dead of night (and we might make it out alive)

by gemkazoni



Category: Oxenfree (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Step-Sibling bonding, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemkazoni/pseuds/gemkazoni
Summary: "What I’m trying to say is that these dreams feel solid, almost, like I can sink my hands into them. They feel like memories.”Silence fills the room, then. Alex rubs her arms, suddenly clammy, and looks over at Jonas, who is clearly searching for something reassuring  to say but failing tremendously at it. The lengthy amount of time he spends trying is still enough to make her smile a little, though.“I don’t know what to do with that info,” he finally admits.“I don’t think there’s anything todowith it. Other than talk about it in therapy one day, maybe."(Alex and Jonas, bonding across five different loops.)
Relationships: Alex & Jonas (Oxenfree)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	walk me home in the dead of night (and we might make it out alive)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb/gifts).



> Happy holidays! I really hope this delivers on the post-canon bonding you were looking for. Also, just FYI: this fic does reference what happens during a "game+" or whatever it's officially called when you play through a second time. If you're not familiar with that content, just know that Alex is able to send herself a message through the radio and possibly prevent a version of herself from ever going to the island in the first place.

By this point, Alex is pretty sure that stepping into the attic is never _not_ going to be an extremely disorienting experience. Jonas has been putting his own personal touches on the space, sure — some old, slightly crooked movie posters on the walls, an old-fashioned stereo in the corner, and _plenty_ of dirty clothes on the floor — but so many details are still undeniably Michael. The old pennants, left hanging from the bannister overhead. The fuzzy rug he picked out himself that always sticks up between her bare toes. The tiny stuffed alligator they named Thaddeus (a much-treasured prize from the duck pond booth at the county fair), propped up at the corner of the window to keep the cords from tangling.

It feels like...she doesn’t know how it feels. Like when you accidentally miscount the stairs and the air whooshes right out of your lungs as you flail to catch the bannister. Like her heart’s a little fish in a big pond and someone’s snagged clean through it with a fishing hook, yanking hard. But hey, what can she do about it? She goes inside with a smile at the ready all the same. 

“If it isn’t my favorite stepbrother in the whole world!” She plops down on the edge of the bed and folds herself into a cross-legged position, not bothering to wait on an invitation. “You’re up awfully late.” 

Jonas raises an eyebrow at her. He’s flipping through a book with the help of his little side table lamp, but the cover is too shadowed for her to make out. “Your _only_ stepbrother,” he corrects dryly. “Not exactly a competitive field.” 

“Hey, first place is still first place! In fact, I’ll get you a certificate. You should head out and start looking for a nice frame right now.” 

“I’ll be sure to put it on my shopping list.” He’s looking at her in a very serious way — not angry, but wary, as if he’s waiting for whatever’s hidden in her Trojan Horse of flattery to come popping out. “Why are _you_ up? You’ve usually drooled yourself a tiny swimming pool by now.” 

“First of all: rude. Second of all, is it a _crime_ to want to come by and say hey? I couldn’t sleep, and you clearly can’t either, sooooo let’s talk about something!” Alex looks around for a possible topic. Slowly at first, then with a little more desperation when she can’t find anything right away that will inspire sparkling conversation. Finally, she lands on the big window. “It’s...it’s a really clear night, isn’t it? Man, just look at those stars! You usually can’t see them that well. Do you know anything about constellations? One of my favorite Nancy Drew books from when I was a kid had this whole complicated mystery about the shapes of the constellations and I memorized them at the time because I was and am that type of very specific, girl-power nerd, but I hardly remember any of them now. I mean, of course there’s the Big Dipper, but beyond that—”

Jonas closes his book with oomph, like it’s the punctuation at the end of a sentence. 

“You had another nightmare,” he says. It’s not a question.

Alex stays frozen for a moment, mouth still half-open. Then, she lets the rest of her breath go like air escaping from a balloon and lays back fully on the bed, arms slung over both eyes. “It was a bad one,” she mutters. “My teeth are still all jittery.”

“Well, out with it already.” He sets the book aside and settles back into his half-slumped position against the headboard, waiting. She’s seen him lots of times without the hat by now, but every single time, she’s stunned by how absurdly _messy_ his hair is all over again. Like a big ole’ tumbleweed in the Wile E. Coyote cartoons. “And next time, you can just start with that, y’know? I’m not charging a “small talk” toll to get in the door.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, but it’s just...shouldn’t I be _over_ this by now? It’s been nearly a month!” 

“I don’t think there’s any kind of established timetable out there for “getting over” being possessed and nearly killed by ghosts.. Or...well, whatever they were.” 

“Well, _you_ don’t seem to be having any bad dreams about it.” 

Jonas sighs and straightens up, scooting a little closer to her across the bed. He knocks her shoulder with his knee. “That doesn’t mean I’m over it. Look, I don’t tend to remember my dreams in general, for some weird reason, but I still think about the island a lot. Like, a _lot_. And sometimes...uh, anyway, what happened in your dream?” 

“Wait, wait, wait.” She springs upright, fast enough to make the bed squeak. “Sometimes _what_? You can’t stop in the middle of a thought like that!”

“It was nothing!” 

“Look, I’ll tell you about my dream, but only if you share what you were gonna say first. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” 

Jonas’s lip raises at the corner, nearly a smirk. “Pretty sure you were gonna tell me about it for free, just like all the others.” 

Alex crosses her arms, resilient. “I guess you’ll never know now, will you?” 

“Fine, fine.” He looks away from her, at the far wall. His hands, pressed into the sheets on either side of him, tense up for a second, fingers strained into straight lines before relaxing again. “This is really weird, but every once in a while, when it’s dark in here and I’m almost asleep, I feel like...I can hear the ocean again. Or even _smell_ it, sometimes. And then I _can’t_ open my eyes, because part of me is really freaked out that when I do, I’ll be back on that boat.” His brow is a furrowed line, made even deeper by the long shadows they’re leaning into. “The feeling doesn’t last very long, but...it still sucks, every time it happens. Happy? Your turn now.”

Alex sits with that story for a moment, tap-tapping her fingernails on her knees. “That’s not weird at all,” she finally says, very quietly. “I was on the ferry in my dream. This time, we were on the way back home and everything was fine, the day was saved, the sun was up, and — and Michael was there too. Like he’d _always_ been there, even though that makes absolutely no sense. Except...it wasn’t permanent. Like, I’d be talking to him and then Ren would tap me on the shoulder to say something and by the time I turned back, Michael was gone. And then I’d say to myself “okay, Alex, get a grip already,” but when I walked over to the benches, he’d be back, asking me to sit next to him. And you guys, you kept changing too — one second, you’d be laughing at his stupid jokes, and the next, you couldn’t remember him being there at all.” It feels like she’s breathing way too fast, her chest sore from it. “I...I know I’m rambling now, and it’s not even that bad of a dream in the grand scheme of things, but when I woke up, it just really, really freaked me out.” 

“So...it was like you were in and out of different realities, almost,” Jonas comments. “That is freaky. I get it.”

Alex doesn’t mean to say the next part, but the words tumble out anyways. “The worst part is that it still doesn’t even _feel_ like a dream. I know what dreams feel like, I’ve had my fair share of running away from axe murderers and killer sharks and that baby doll that actually poops itself—”

“Wait. What was that last one?”

“Just a childhood phobia, forget it — but what I’m trying to say is that these dreams feel _solid_ , almost, like I can sink my hands into them. They feel like memories.” 

Silence fills the room, then. Alex rubs her arms, suddenly clammy, and looks over at Jonas, who is clearly searching for something reassuring to say but failing tremendously at it. The lengthy amount of time he spends trying is still enough to make her smile a little, though. 

“I don’t know what to do with that info,” he finally admits.

“I don’t think there’s anything to _do_ with it. Other than talk about it in therapy one day, maybe,” She jokes half-heartedly. “But thanks for listening. It helps to have someone to relentlessly bug about this stuff.” She pats him on the shoulder and starts to wiggle her way to the edge of the bed again.

“You don’t have to go,” he says after her. “Just hang out here until you feel better. Bring over a book, or your headphones, or we can talk more about your fear of lifelike baby toys, because I definitely have some questions—” 

That makes Alex laugh and shake her head. “Okay, _no_ , but I do have another suggestion. Why don’t you help me throw a late-night hair dye party? My roots look awful and I could really use an extra pair of handssss…” 

“Oh god, would you give that up already? You are never going to convince me to help you with that in a million years. My stance is rock-solid: no gross blue goop.” 

“Aww, I thought I might really have you this time. One day! I'm gonna wear you down, mark my words.” She stands with a big, yawning stretch towards the ceiling and then twists back around to him. “Is a hug out of the question too?” 

His comically exasperated face softens right away. “Of course not, you dork,” he says, holding both arms out. She slides into them with practiced ease, resting her chin on his shoulder and squeezing extra-hard for good measure. 

“Even if they feel real, they’re just dreams,” he says near her ear, warm. “We made it out, and we’re never going back there again. Right?”

It feels like someone stuffed a rock halfway down her throat. She does her best to swallow around it. “Right,” she says, and it’s somehow the truth and a lie at the same time. Beneath the peaceful calm of Jonas’s bedroom, the humid wind outside and the house’s old creaks, there’s a hum that’s building and building, prickling in both ears. Smooth, but with high peaks of friction that change and change and change some more, like someone searching for a strong signal. Her teeth are chattering again. She holds on tighter. “One more teeny tiny favor. Can you promise me—”

**_Girl. Gone. Blue. Back. Alex. Alex. Alex._ **

**_Oh. It’s you again._ **

“—me something, Jonas. Promise that you won’t hold me back from eating my body weight in pancakes, even though that’s a terrible life choice! Okay? Okay.” 

They’ve just been seated in a coveted corner booth at the local 24-hour breakfast place, the one with perpetually sticky countertops and overhead lighting that flickers at random intervals and at least one frizzy-haired waitress who looks like she hasn’t slept since last Tuesday. Their parents have gone out on a date night (gross) and Alex wanted to shake up her usual routine of becoming one with the sofa. It’s only been a couple of weeks since the island, after all, and there’s still lots of regular hang-outs that she wants to take Jonas to. So far, being weekend adventure buddies has been pretty cool.

“Y’know, there’s a place like this in my old neighborhood,” he says after they’ve ordered from oversized, one-page plastic menus, “but after the third time the cashier was held at gunpoint, I decided it wasn’t worth the risk. No one needs pancakes _that_ bad.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Alex says. “That sounds rough, but do you know what’s _also_ rough? When you’re stuck with an empty syrup bottle.” She gives said bottle an exaggerated shake. “Be a dear and steal the one from the next table over, will you?”

“You can just ask the waitress for a full one when she comes back!” 

“But she’s coming back with our hot food, which means I’ll have to wait even longer for the syrup! Jonas, Jonas, Jonas. Do you know anything about the ideal heat for pancakes? Every minute — nay, every second — is priceless.” 

“Oh, by all means, share your wealth of knowledge with me, wise Sensei,” he says, steeped in dryness, before getting up and swiping the half-full bottle anyway. Alex muffles a laugh in her sleeve. Then, she jumps a little, her pulse jolting in both wrists. Swiveling around in her seat, she sees another waitress at the counter fiddling with radio dials, trying to find a station that’s well-hidden between bursts of screaming static. After another seven seconds — Alex counts — she finally finds a song. Some cheerful, squeaky pop. 

“Uh, Alex?” She turns back only to see that Jonas is in his seat once more, hands folded over one another. “What is it?” 

“Nothing! Nothing.” She waves him off. “Sorry, I just realized that I sounded like a total jerk there, didn’t I? Being held at gunpoint is way rougher. I was just, y’know, making a joke. A dumb joke. Maybe I should stop trying to be funny.” 

Jonas’s stern line of a mouth crooks upwards. “It needed a little more storyboarding,” he says, “but that’s going too far. You have your moments.” 

The food is, as always, profoundly mediocre and extremely hot, which is exactly what Alex wants right now. She has to talk herself down from simply sticking her face right into the fluffy, sticky goodness, instead compromising by folding up each flapjack like a taco with her fork and taking it down in four or five bites at most. Jonas looks mildly alarmed, but he stays focused on his cheesy omelette and lets it pass without comment. 

“Is it just me,” he finally says out of the blue, “or is it really, really, _really_ weird to see my dad and your mom being all mushy with one another?” 

“Oh, 1000% weird, no doubt,” Alex chokes out before clearing her throat with a gulp of orange juice. “They’re like high school sweethearts. I’m half-expecting one of them to hand me a love note and ask me to pass it along when we’re eating dinner.” 

“I mean...it’s good, right? It’s good.” He stabs his fork through some egg with a bit too much oomph. “They seem happy.” 

“Mm-hmm. I do like seeing my mom actually smile again. That was a rare sight for a long time. But…” The window next to them fills with a red glow. She looks up, momentarily distracted, only to see a car backing out of a parking spot. “But there’s something a little sad about it too, y’know? Like...my dad was the one who used to make her happy. They’d tell stupid inside jokes and cut out coupons they were never gonna remember to use and go on long walks around the block together, even when it was freezing outside. And now, all of that’s over. Heavy stuff, huh?” 

Jonas looks down at his half-eaten plate intently, almost like he’s trying to win a staring contest with it. Alex, no longer starving to death, tackles the last pancake with a slightly more graceful touch.

“For my parents, it was coffee.” 

“Whu-?” Her mouth’s full again. 

Jonas hesitates, adjusting and readjusting his beanie. He leans towards her side of the table, talking quieter now. “Look, just — don’t say anything after I get this out, okay? I don’t want to hear “awww” or “i’m sorry” or “that’s really sweet.” I just want to share something and then get back to a normal conversation. That’s all.” 

Alex blinks, chews, and blinks some more. She gives a little nod. 

“When...when my mom was starting to get really bad, it was hard for her to even get out of bed in the morning, and she hated that because she was addicted to coffee. She’d drink four or five cups a day, seriously. The machine would beg for mercy. Usually, my parents would drink it together while doing a crossword or just talking, but then she needed more and more sleep, so my dad would make her two full cups and set them on her nightstand instead so she could wake up to the smell. Sometimes, it wouldn’t work and they’d be cold by the time she got up, but most of the time she’d drink them anyway.” His voice strains the tiniest amount, like a rope being tugged on. “Eventually, he bought her a second nightstand from a thrift store just so the whole coffeemaker could live in the bedroom with her. She liked that a lot. “24-hour room service,” she called it.” 

He coughs and shrugs both shoulders up to his ears, as if to say _okay, story’s over_ , before looking out the window at the changing street lights across the parking lot. And Alex — Alex really does get it, right down to her bones. She knows what it’s like to have all these untidy memories of people who are gone, stacked up to the ceiling of your brain with nowhere else for them to go. Not the Hallmark-esque moments like cherished holidays together, earnest I love you’s and wrenching goodbyes, but the weird, random ones that don’t make good stories when you say them outloud but still hurt in the same way, or maybe even more. For a moment, she really wants to tell Jonas about her family’s roadtrip in the 6th grade when she told a joke that made Michael spew milk right out of his nose, all over the backseat, and their parents pulled over just to make them clean it up. Or the time she had the flu in elementary school and Michael sat and watched 12 whole episodes of Totally Spies with her while he was doing his homework, even though he hated that show with every fiber of his being. 

Maybe another time, when there isn’t an overexcited toddler kicking her in the back every three seconds from the next booth over. 

For now, she just reaches over and gives his hand, curled tight on the table, a solid pat. He scrunches his nose at that. 

“Eww,” he says. “You got syrup on me.” 

“Oh my god, I did _exactly_ what you asked and you’re still giving me a hard time? A little syrup won’t kill you! It’s good for the soul.” She pats his hand a few more forceful times before he manages to pull it off the table entirely with a chuckle. “And y’know what? The mushy parent thing isn’t all bad, I guess. Your dad’s pretty cool. My mom could do a lot worse.” 

“He’d be glad to hear you say that. He _loves_ you,” Jonas half-snorts. “You should have seen his face when he realized we were hanging out by choice — lit up like it was Christmas morning. He thinks you’re a good influence on me, I’m pretty sure.” 

“Ooh, very perceptive, too. Now I like him even more.” Alex flinches at a burst of radio static behind her again. Someone must be searching for another station. “Maybe I’ll invite him along instead to my next late-night breakfast outing. He’ll probably appreciate it more.”

“Ouch. You wound me so deeply,” Jonas deadpans. He glances around for their waitress. “Do you want to head out now, or…?” 

The buzz is still going strong — strong enough that it makes her click her teeth together. She twists around in her seat again to see what the hold-up is, only to realize that no one’s messing with the dial at all. The woman from before is tallying up her dollar bills on the counter in little piles, bobbing her head as though she’s still listening to a song. Everyone around her is eating or talking too, undisturbed. 

She twists back to Jonas, so fast that her ponytail whips around and smacks her in the chin. “Doesn’t that sound bug you too?”

His forehead wrinkles in confusion. “What, the music? I mean, it’s not my favorite, but…” 

The streetlights outside have become an impromptu four-way stop, flashing red. The static contracts, expands, crackles over every inch of exposed skin. **_Alex_** , it gurgles, as if from deep underwater. 

Clarity crashes over her in one big wave. 

“Jonas,” she wheezes. The worst part by far is that there’s never enough time to explain — and if there was, what would it matter anyway? It all slips away every single time. Water through fingers, sand in the wind. Thank God she only remembers this clearly every handful of go-arounds. Most of the time, it’s just vague, annoying deja-vu. “It’s happening again. The island. The _loop_.” 

His dark eyes go wide. “Alex, we’re off the island. We’ve been off for weeks. What are you talking about?” 

“This is part of it! It’s the same loop, just — a much bigger loop than before. We’ve gotten off so many times before, but it never matters, even when I change things.”

She’s talking so loudly that people from other tables are looking over with mild annoyance. Jonas, meanwhile, is doing his best to process this new information, the muscles in his throat working and working. “How many times?” He finally settles on gravely. “And what kinds of things are you changing?” She doesn’t realize she’s shaking until he reaches over and grips her arm, carefully but firmly. “Alex, just _breathe_.” 

_Sometimes, you hate me by the end of the night_ , she thinks. _Sometimes, I wipe Clarissa right off the face of the earth. Sometimes, Michael’s alive again._ All of it settles like blood in her mouth, slick and coppery. The room is spinning. The static is screaming. She closes her eyes and presses her forehead to the table, trying not to hyperventilate. 

“Jonas,” she says again, barely able to hear herself over the roar in her head. “Tell me something you’ve never told me before.”

“What? Why!?” 

“Just do it! I have to — maybe if I can hold onto things from loop to loop, I’ll remember faster next time. It’s an experiment, okay? I’m trying something!”

In typical Jonas fashion, he shakes off the disbelief like dust and gets onboard when she really needs him to. “Um. I hate avocado? I, I won a “best penmanship” award in the 2nd grade, or — ugh, this is stupid, but my favorite candy is that wrapped one that looks like a strawberry. But you can never find them anywhere—”

“Do you mean the ones that every person over the age of 65 is legally obligated to give out?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. They’re honestly really good, though!” 

Somehow, despite the static and the fear and the sudden, enormous feeling of her body trying very hard to unravel itself into little bits of thread, Alex manages to smile.”That’s kind of adorable, honestl—”

**_Round and round and round and round and round and round you go. Fun, isn’t it? Lonely, isn’t it? We know. Believe us, we know._ **

**They still breathe, Alex dimly realizes. Maybe just out of habit, but it happens all the same. She can hear it — the slow exhalation of 97 voices in perfect union, pressed deep and delicately into one another like a crinkled stack of tissue paper.**

**_Kick up your shoes, child. Relax, and stop trying so hard. Enjoy the merry go round. Or don’t. Doesn’t matter to us._ **

“—estly? You are the absolute _best_ , Jonas. I really owe you for this. I can’t even tell you how annoying this is to do alone. I always miss a big chunk of hair, somehow, it’s ridiculous. Uh, how much do you like that shirt you’re wearing?” 

“How much do I _like_ it? I like it as much as any piece of clothing that actually covers my body and keeps me from being a perpetually naked social pariah, I guess. Why?”

“No reason, it just — there’s a good chance it could end up with some lovely blue stains by the end of this! But that’s all right, isn’t it? It’s kind of a boring tree-green all over right now anyway, a little blue could really liven it up, give you some dramatic fashion _flair_.” 

Alex throws up jazz hands for added effect. The plastic gloves she’s wearing ruin it a little. They’re just so _crinkly_. Jonas is wholly unimpressed, his mouth deadset in a frown as he struggles to peel his own pair open enough to wiggle into them. It takes five tries. 

“Oh, gee, wonderful. I can’t wait to get started. Truly the Saturday afternoon of my wildest dreams,” he says all in a monotone, grimly examining the bowl of hair dye she’s already mixed together. 

She grins and wraps a very old, stringy towel (rescued from the very, very back of her mom’s well-organized linen closet where it probably hasn’t seen the light of day for decades) tight around her shoulders. “Glad to hear it! Let’s get started. It won’t take long at all if we’re both working together, okay?” 

She tackles all of the hair on her left while Jonas focuses on the roots first, slowly moving towards the right side. He’s being decently thorough, even if his big fingers tug a little too hard here and there as they press the dye into place. But there’s something almost soothing about it too, like he’s one of those buff masseuses who really goes the extra mile. The steady sweeping motions against her scalp actually start to make her feel a little sleepy.

“Soooo,” Jonas says, cutting into the silence. Her eyes, lulled into being half-closed, open wide again. “Why do you do this, anyway? I’m not saying that because it doesn’t look good, it does, but...blue’s not really a common hair color. Did you just have an identity crisis, or were you thinking of joining a punk rock band, or…?” 

Alex looks over at herself in the mirror. The shock of brown at the tip-top of her head, the awkward way she’s hunched over on her tiny stool so that her and Jonas can both fit in this tiny guest bathroom together. For a moment, she wants to just wave it off with the typical excuses that she gave her friends at school. _I just wanted to shake things up a little. No one else wears it this way. Won’t it make for a GREAT yearbook photo?_

But this is Jonas. They’ve been living together for months and months now — long enough that he’s seen her on a four-day streak with no shower, or when she goes all Sunday without brushing her hair and it looks more like the nest of a bird with major hoarding tendencies. Long enough that he introduces her as just his _sister_ now, no “step” in the front. 

“Well...look, I don’t want to bring down the mood, but you _did_ ask.” She takes a deep breath, weaving two fingers deep into her slick locks. “It’s because I used to look in the mirror and really, _really_ hate the person staring back. I hated her so much that it felt like I was going to disintegrate into nothing, or, or just explode and leave a really ugly scorch mark on the wall. So I decided to look like someone else. Someone new.”

Jonas’s expression creases with confusion. He reaches for the bowl, needing more dye. “Okay, but...why?” 

“Think about it, buddy. I dyed my hair for the first time about a year and a half ago.”

It takes another handful of seconds, but he gets there, so suddenly that the bowl nearly tumbles out of his gloved hands and straight to the floor. “Oh. Oh! Right, right, right. Ugh, I’m sorry, Alex.” With a deep sigh, he leans against the sink, hand pressed to his forehead. “I get it. Of course I get it.” 

She smiles at his reflection. “Jonas, you weren’t even _around_ then. Of course that’s not the first thing that comes to mind for you. Totally understandable.” When he still doesn’t move, she starts bouncing her knees, socked feet squeaking on the old linoleum. “Hey, I think we’re almost done! Just a little more dye, some old-fashioned waiting, a quick shower for me, and then I’m properly smurfed up.”

He doesn’t lift his hand away from his face just yet, but she does hear him snort. “Smurfed up? That’s...that doesn’t even make any sense. Smurfs have blue _skin_ , not blue hair.”

“I know, I know. I was trying to think of a funny word on short notice. I’ll take it back to the drawing board, don’t worry. And in the meantime, I’ll make you a grilled cheese or something. As a way of saying thanks.” 

She’s moving her hands through the ends of her hair now, trying to catch every last strand. After a moment, she feels Jonas’s hands too, back to work. “Can you add turkey?” He asks.

“Ooh, didn’t know I was talking to a grilled cheese connoisseur. You got it.” 

A peaceful minute and a half passes by before Jonas says “ _shit_ ” very emphatically. Alex looks up at the mirror for the first time in a while, startled, only to immediately burst out laughing. He’s staring at their reflections too; his has a big blue stain right across the forehead. 

“I forgot about the gloves! I wasn’t even thinking, I just touched my face, and...it’ll come off, right? Right!? Alex, stop that!” 

Alex can’t. She absolutely can’t. It’s like asking her to stop breathing, which, funnily enough, she’s also having a hard time doing properly right now. “It says...right on the box...that it stains skin,” she manages to get out between gasps for air, “just...hurry and try...to wash it off! The sink, the sink,” she wheezes, gesturing to it urgently. 

Jonas turns both faucets up to full steam and starts splashing his face. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he half-sputters, all of the water being flung around making it hard for him to speak clearly. “I could have gone for a walk or taken a nap or, heck, counted _blades of grass_ outside on the lawn, but noooo…”

“I knew I'd get you in the end,” Alex says in a sing-song voice, having finally calmed down. She grins at him as he yanks up the edge of the old towel she’s wearing to furiously rub his forehead on. “Heck, how many times have I asked by now? Over a dozen for sure. But I knew, Jonas. I knew that one day, I would catch you facing the awful, the terrible, the dreaded Ultimate Boredom. I was a hunter playing the waiting game for its prey, basically."

Jonas raises his head. He’s still got a faded line of blue right over the spot where the skin creases into a few faint lines when he’s irritated or thinking _really_ hard. “What are you talking about? This is the first time you’ve ever asked me to help dye your hair.” 

“What? Is the smell of all this dye affecting your memory?” She almost reaches out to knock on his head with a few curled knuckles, but remembers her own messy gloves just in time and keeps both hands to herself. “I’ve definitely asked you before. There was that one night when I had a bad dream, and you said—wait, but that was—”

Alex's ears start to ring, so suddenly that she bites her tongue hard as a reflex, groans around the shape of it. She feels unsteady, as if the bathroom has tilted to one side. No, not that — it’s bobbing up and down, as though she’s on a boat. 

Distantly, she realizes that Jonas has torn off his gloves and is holding her shoulders now, shaking her. “Alex,” he says, almost yells, and it’s not until then that she realizes her eyes are closed. She can barely hear him over the inhuman screech of static, burning its way into every last sliver of her brain. It’s like he’s in another room, another house, another universe. 

“I’m okay.” She tries very hard to make her mouth say the words, even though it’s a bald-faced lie. “I’m just going back. I’m used to it by now. Do you hear me, Jonas? I’ll see you in a minu—”

**_Do you want to hear a riddle? You do. You really do. Listen, Alex. Listen to us. Are you listening?_ **

**Child-like, Maggie Adler’s letters had called them — and yeah, Alex definitely gets that from time to time. Their impatient excitement, the way they pester and brim with newfound energy when they successfully get a rise out of her. Not this time, though. She's trying a different strategy, which is to just keep her mouth shut until this unstoppable train reaches the next junction. Maybe sheer boredom will shake something loose in their loopy, fragmented hive mind. Here’s hoping.**

**_If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?_ **

**_If a submarine falls in the ocean and disintegrates into ash and grime, does it make a sound?_ **

**Alex forces out a shuddery breath between her teeth. She stays silent. She waits.**

**_If an Alex falls through a dimensional rift and is never heard from again, does anyone remember it happened at all?  
_ **

“—inute is all it takes. One measly minute! Just pick up the phone, call me anytime, and it’ll be like I never left in the first place, promise. You _better_ have me saved in your favorites, by the way.” 

“I don’t even use my favorites. I just go to recent calls, since you’re always there. Or sometimes, I even punch your number in, like the old days.” 

“Whoa, okay, didn’t realize I was talking to Grandpa Jonas here. Although I guess I’m flattered that you can even remember it. If I was kidnapped by a psycho and my only way out was to call someone’s number by memory, I’d be so, so dead. Unbelievably dead. Deader than dead. Oh, we're at the top. Race you!” 

“Hey!” 

Alex reaches the railing first by a good five and a half seconds, a flushed, victorious grin already spread ear to ear by the time Jonas huffs and puffs his way up to her. They’ve gone up her favorite walking trail in the twilight hours, when the summer weather is actually kind of pleasant and doesn’t make you want to tear off your sweaty skin, wring it out, and hang it on a clothesline for the rest of the day. It’s her top choice because of the way it bends up a hill and wraps around a spot where the trees break apart and reveal a full look at the town. The view’s not _spectacular_ or anything like that, but it’s still a peaceful place where she’s always been able to sort out her jumbled thoughts into neat little piles.

These days, she brings Jonas along more often than not. Usually, they just stand elbow-to-elbow and enjoy the quiet together for 20 minutes or so before heading back down, but she knows that’s not going to be the case tonight. He’s got that familiar “I’m bothered by something but not bothered enough that I want to say it unprompted so I’ll wait for Alex to inevitably bug me about it until I give in” look. 

Which she will, of course. She’s only human.

“C’mon, Jonas.” She punches him lightly on the shoulder. The wind ripples through her ponytail and pushes the loose locks of hair directly against her face. A few pieces stick to her half-dry lips, forcing her to spit them away. “Out with it already. Just say what’s on your mind.” 

“I’m just...confused, I guess.” He heaves a sigh, his steady gaze focused on the smattering of houses and buildings below them. Some of the windows are starting to light up as the sun fades. “I thought you liked this town. I’m not saying I don’t support you! Of course I do, you know I do, but I just don’t really _get_ it. You could go to school here just as easily. And it’d cost about five billion dollars less than an out-of-state college, give or take a few bucks.” 

“Well, first of all, my plans haven’t been chiseled into stone or anything like that! I’m still thinking. Pondering. Looking through my options and all that jazz.” A plane is drifting by overhead, just a tiny dot of blinking color. Alex follows the path until a cloud mercilessly gobbles it up. “Buttttt the more I think about it, the more it feels like the right choice.”

“What are you going to study?” 

She crosses both arms over the railing and rests her chin against them. “I don’t know. That’s...it’s not really the point, the point is — ugh. Trying to put this into actual words is harder than I thought. Don’t tell my mom what I’m about to say, okay?” 

“Yeah, because we’re _such_ big gossip buddies,” Jonas says wryly.

“Hey, I’ve seen you guys get sucked into a soap opera together before! Don’t act like you haven’t bonded!” 

“That was just the _one_ time, but — okay, okay. I promise.” 

Alex’s heart does a series of weird flip-flops in her chest, almost like it’s attempting a gymnastics routine and really, _really_ sucking at it. She waits it out, and then she opens her mouth again.

“Michael wanted to get out of here,” she says very quietly. “He tried to downplay it when he saw how bummed it made me, but that’s how he really felt. He wanted to see what he could make of himself out in a world that didn’t already adore the crap out of him. I guess I’m thinking that...I owe it to him, somehow? If I can make it work out in the great beyond, then it’s almost like he made it too. Kind of? In a weird, spiritual, sibling-mystical-energy way. Is any of this making sense?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the motion of Jonas nodding. 

“Yeah,” he says, just as quietly. “I mean, you shouldn’t feel _obligated_ , I definitely don’t think Michael would have wanted that, but...if it feels right, it’s probably right.” 

A part of Alex — a deep, deep down part, a part that’s worn and scabbed over but has never quite healed with new skin, not all the way — aches at that. It’s a dull ache, though. Instead of hurting, it feels like a little reminder, a familiar friend. Two years have passed since the lake. It’s been almost one year since Edwards Island. Everything moves forward, and she’s learning how to carry it all along for the ride. 

Her musings are rudely interrupted by the sudden stink of cigarette smoke.

“Ugh, _Jonas_!” She frantically waves his last exhale away. “You said you were trying to quit! You promised!” 

“I am!” He insists with a little half-cough mixed in. The sky is dark enough now that the burning embers illuminate his chin and mouth at the edges in a orange-y glow; they start dancing in the air as he gestures frantically. “I told you, it’s not an “all or nothing” thing. I’ve got to take it slowly or my nerves are going to turn into silly string. Let’s take today, for instance. Usually, I’ve had two or three by now, but this is my very first one, honest. See? Progress.” 

“Whatever you say, Smokey the Bear.” 

“Alex, Smokey the Bear is all about forest fires, not smoking.” 

“It’s the same family of problems! Smoking can _cause_ forest fires, right? Boom — the reference works.” 

“Suuuure. Keep telling yourself that.” He takes a few more long drags and then stamps it out decisively under one heel, sharply nodding his head in her direction as if to say: _see_? 

“Thank you,” Alex says with a big smile. “You know that I guilt trip you because I care, right? I don’t want you to sound like an 80 year old who’s swallowed a couple handfuls of gravel before you even hit 25. You deserve better than that.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve seen all the scary PSA’s they play in seventh grade too. Are you gonna tell me about the blackened lungs next?”

“I’m _serious_.” She must sound like it, too, because his face softens, becomes almost curious. “You’re my brother, and I love you, and — and if I do move away, I’m going to miss you like crazy, and I want you to take care of yourself so I can drag you up here again whenever I come back for a visit without you keeling over. Okay?” 

A long moment of silence follows, which is totally understandable, as far as Alex is concerned. She’s never said anything like that — the big L word — before. It just felt like the right time to toss it out there, let the chips fall where they may. It’s true, after all. 

“Uh,” Jonas finally says after nearly a full minute, the pinnacle of eloquence. His jaw moves up and down silently, like he’s a very realistic puppet, before finally managing to produce actual words again. “I...I’m gonna miss you too, Alex. A _lot_. So much that you’re gonna get sick of me driving up to wherever you are so we can hang out on the weekends, seriously. And I...well. Just insert lots of mushy feelings here for me too, okay?” He winces at himself, scratching the back of his head. “I know that sounds unbearably lame, like the cop-out of the century, but…” 

“No, no. That’s all you have to say,” Alex says, and means it. She scoots closer down the railing — close enough to sling her arm around his back and squeeze, one cheek pressed snugly to his shoulder. “We can just be two people with mushy feelings. I’m good with that.” 

He smiles over at her — a big one, which is a pretty rare sight. “Me too.” 

The town’s lights, a distant glittering of color, start to blink. At first, Alex thinks that families with little kids are just getting ready for bedtime, but that doesn’t explain why they come back on again after only a few seconds. And then they’re off again. On again, off again, on again, in a strangely timed pattern that keeps changing, almost like…

....Morse code.

This time, when the memories find her, she doesn’t panic. She doesn’t even move from her comfortable perch next to Jonas. She just stares straight ahead, watching as all the little yellow-warm windows blur into one another as if they’re smeared paint. She prepares herself for the sudden tug, the awful whiplash, and the smell of ocean water. 

“Do me a favor,” she says. “Try to go all of tomorrow without smoking, huh? Just one day. And if you break and really, _really_ need it, I’ll forgive you. It won’t be the end of the world, trust m—”

**“I’m going to find a way out of this,” Alex declares, right into the void. “I just want you guys to know that. Guys? Girls? Ghosts? All of the above.”**

**_That’s what every Alex says._ **

**_Do you want to know how many of you we’ve seen by now? Hundreds. Thousands. Your sense of scope is so limited. Frustrating. Two-dimensional._ **

**“I don’t care about that,” Alex says. She can’t hide the waver in her voice, but that’s okay. She just talks louder. “There has to be a way to break the loop, and I’m going to try anything and everything until I find it. I’ll put you to rest in a way that DOESN’T involve my friends ending up as your meat-puppets. Just watch.”**

**_If Margaret couldn’t do it, what makes you think you’re any different?_ **

**“I’m not any different. I’m just picking up where she left off.”**

**_We have a question. One question. A fun one._ **

**_If there IS an Alex out there who heard your messages, never came to the island, never opened the rift…_ **

**_Do you hate her? Do you wish you could take her place? Would you give anYThiNG?_ **

**“I do want that, sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time.” There's no good reason to lie. She doesn’t have to think about it much, either. It’s already a well-trodden path through her brain. “But that version of me never gets to see Michael again, and that makes me feel sorry for her too. And also...there’s me and Jonas. If we didn’t meet this way and share this whole crazy experience, who knows what would have happened? Maybe we would have ended up resenting each other for everything changing so fast. Maybe we’d be two awkward strangers living in the same house for a year, and then he’d turn into just another weird relative I have to make small talk with over turkey and eggnog at the holidays. Maybe it's worth it for that too. And besides, like I said, I’m getting us out of here anyway, so it doesn't even matter!"**

**_Alexandra. Child. Foolish. Impudent. Not listening. Told you, we, we, we’VE TOld yOU—_ **

**“All I need is time,” Alex says. “My friends, and my brainpower, and time. We’ve got an unlimited amount of that, right?”**

**The static flattens out, left hovering at a light hum. An impossible, momentary silence. When the ghosts come back, they sound calmer. They sound almost — not quite, but almost — humbled.**

**_True. Nothing but time. Time, and time, and time._ **

**_Best of luck, Alex. You’re going to need it._ **

**__**

“—ust me, okay? That’s a lot to ask, considering you don’t actually, um, _know_ me yet, but it’s actually a pretty cool place. It’ll be a fun introduction to your new town, if anything. Just stand by, I’m sure Ren’s going to give you the full oral history here in a second.” 

“Yeah, sure. I gotta ask, is he always so…”

Her new stepbrother trails off. Alex expected that. Ren tends to defy description, after all. Finally, he just makes a wide, sweeping gesture with both arms, stretching them as far out as possible, and that startles a snicker out of her. 

“Oh, _worse_ , usually,” she says. “Much worse. On a good day, his personality could fill three ferries worth of space, I think. But don’t worry. It starts to become endearing after a while. Mostly.” 

This is actually going pretty well so far, she thinks. She had a full-blown suit of anxiety armor strapped on when first picking him up, but Jonas seems like a normal guy. Very chill, kind of funny, nice enough. _Not_ a secret serial killer — she’s 96% certain about that by now. They’ve been standing together at the railing for a full two minutes so far, watching the ocean sway and crash and spit foam, and there’s something almost cozy about it. 

She’s probably got only twenty seconds or so before Ren gets back from the drinking fountain upstairs and promptly commandeers a vast majority of the talking. Might as well do it now, Alex decides, and fishes through her jacket pocket. 

“Hey,” she says, and Jonas turns to her. “When we were at the Family Mart before, I saw this and I thought...hey what better way to get over all of the new stepsibling weirdness than a little gift? Everyone likes candy, right? Uh, please say you like candy, or this is gonna get awkward fast.” 

He shrugs. “Sure. I mean, I won’t say no to it. What am I, a dentist?” 

“That would be a big surprise if you were, honestly. Okay, great — here!” 

Alex holds out the bag of strawberry bon-bons, or sweets, or whatever it is they’re called. Half a second later, regret slams into her with all the blunt force of a runaway train. What was she even thinking, picking _these_? There was a whole wall-full of better choices, peanut butter cups and fruity gums and sour worms, and she went with the option that you only pick if the rest of your grandma’s candy bowl is filled with old mints? She must have blacked out or had a minor stroke under all that flickering fluorescent lighting. Now he’s going to think that she’s making fun of him, and boom — fourteen minutes of goodwill, absolutely obliterated off the face of the planet. Great job, Alex. Just great. 

“Uh, I — this isn’t a prank, I swear!” In immediate retrospect, that’s exactly what someone pulling a prank would say, but it’s too late. She keeps fumbling her way through the words anyway. “I just thought — well, _I_ kind of like them, there’s something sort of homey about — you don’t have to take them, really.” 

His hand closes around the bag, right before she’s about to yank it back and banish it to the deepest crevices of her pocket again.

“No,” Jonas says, and Alex finally notices his expression. He doesn’t look confused, or irritated. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. “I...I like these a lot. How did — you just guessed when you picked it? Where did you even _find_ them?” 

She lets him pull the candy fully into his grip. “Uh, well, there was this one lonely bag crammed into the corner of the shelf, collecting dust, and it just...felt right.” She shrugs helplessly, unable to hold back a relieved grin. Who is she to look a gift miracle in the mouth? “Sounds like it was meant to be!” 

“Yeah.” Jonas breathes the word out, thick with disbelief. But when he notices her smiling, he smiles too. “Thanks, Alex.” 

They lapse into silence and drift away from each other, then, as two near-strangers often do — he makes his way back over to the benches, still staring wonderingly at the candy, while she moves to the front of the ferry, fingers gripped around the railing, her face already chilled from the wind and water. She can see the other boat returning across the way, the deck speckled with a few shifting bodies here and there. Maybe she’ll wave, when it gets a little closer.

The radio is a snug weight in her other pocket. The sun is setting fast. Edwards Island looms ahead, indeterminate and wreathed in mist, and Alex waits to reach it.


End file.
